Introduction Ch. 02

Last night two friends of my Master came to the house for a visit. They are brothers. I like one better than the other. Maybe that showed, because when they left, my Master was unhappy with me. He said I had not pleased him, because I had not pleased his two friends.

When my Master and his new wife are in town for a while, I live with them. I am their slave. I go to college; I come home, put on my collar, and take off my clothes as my Master orders. When I am at home with them, I wear nothing except my collar, my wrist and ankle restraints, sometimes thi hi hose because I like the feel, and usually a waist chain. Sometimes when I get home, my Master puts clamps on me and I wear those for a little while.

My Master is also my half-uncle, Jason. His new wife, Maria, is my Mistress.

The two brothers who visited last night are in their 40's and nice businessmen, Marcus and Taylor, but Marcus likes to hurt a little. He's the one I don't like quite as much.

The house that my uncle owns in Atlanta has an antebellum look, revelling in movie images of the old South, with two stories and columns that span the length of both on the front entrance. Inside is a double staircase, two sides that swirl gently towards a central balcony overlooking the foyer. In the center of the black and white tile entrance, below the foyer's balcony, is a marble copy of a Greek statue. Very nice. My uncle travels some, but not as much as my father. Sometimes my uncle and Maria have stayed in Atlanta for a month or a little longer.

When my uncle got home this afternoon, he explained that I had not obeyed him completely as a good slave should. I had not welcomed Marcus as equally as I had Taylor. I knew not to say that Marcus has wicked fingers that pinch hard. It doesn't matter.

There is a rig my uncle made that makes good use of the balcony in the entranceway. It's a suspension unit. He and Maria set it up. The two chains come down on either side of the small balcony, to almost the floor below. I was naked except for my collar and restraints and thi hi hose, white lace, the cuffs snug against my thighs, and white leather half-boots with high, sharp stilletto heels. I like the feel of the boots.

When the rig was ready, my uncle Jason nodded at me. I laid down on the floor on my back, my head towards the entrance door of the house, my feet towards the statue under the balcony.

The rig has two heavily padded restraints at the end of each chain. The leather and padding are strong and longer, fitting over my ankles and onto my calves securely. Jason fitted first one leg, then the other, then called up to Maria, who turned on the slow crank. I rose into the air until I was upside down, my arms down, my legs wide apart, held in place on each side of the balcony. He called to Maria to lift me up just a little higher, then was satisfied. Coming behind me, he looped a chain through a hook that is normally hidden at the base of the statue, then fixed each end to my wrist restraints, pulling me backwards towards the statue. This made my back arch and my hips go forward. Easy access. My pussy was about the level of his head, then.

Jason started with a flogger, smacking the insides of my thighs, walking around, flicking it against my bottom, my back, then back to my front, where he smacked the strands of the flogger against my breasts. He stopped and added alligator clamps to my nipples, then weights, so the clamps would dip in cruelly to my nipples and swing when he smacked me.

He switched to a crop then and began smacking my pussy, my clit and the lips, the insides of my thighs, back to my clit and pussy. I moaned. He moved to my bottom again, smacking it until I knew it was leaving red marks, back to my front, whacking the crop against my nipples. The chains holding the nipple weights tinkled and clinked. I whimpered. Jason slapped my pussy again and again, and again, with the crop, until it stung and I knew red marks were there, too. He called to Maria, who pulled me up another notch on the rig. This pulled my arms a little tighter. Jason unzipped and knelt in front of me.

"Suck my cock," he ordered. "Make it hard. Make me cum."

I did, working my tongue around the rim while I felt the cool air blowing across my sore pussy. I felt him get harder and harder in my mouth, pushing into me. The blood was rushing to my head, making me a little dizzy, but I still worked my tongue and mouth around his cock, enjoying him in my mouth, knowing I was giving him pleasure. He finally came in my mouth, then wiped his cock on my breasts. He picked up his crop and slapped my clit a few more times until I cried out, but I orgasmed that time. He and Maria let me down.

I washed and put on new thi hi hose, sheer black lace this time, and as Jason ordered, made my eye makeup "extra slutty." I wore knee length black suede boots with short, sharp heels. I love the feel of those boots. Wrist and ankle restraints, collar. Gold waist chain. A few things in a suitcase.

I would be staying with the two brothers for a week as punishment.

I only wore a blanket around me in the car. When we arrived at the brothers' house, I was ushered into their home by Jason and Maria, greeted by Taylor.

"Make me proud," Jason murmured in my ear. He kissed me, then pulled off my blanket and left me standing, naked and nervous, in the entranceway of this new place.

Taylor walked around me, examining me. I stood still, waiting. He was tall, dark, fairly slender though it was hard to tell; he was still wearing a suit. He nodded, called to his butler. The butler never raised an eyebrow. We went upstairs to my room for the week.

Marcus was already there, pacing. He smiled when he saw me. Taylor and the butler closed the door behind them and left. Marcus told me to lie down on the bed. I did. He examined the red marks.

"I can improve on that," he said with a smile. I shivered.

One of Marcus' favorite things to do, it turned out, was to tie me to the bed, pulling my bottom all the way to the end, my wrists chained to each bedpost at the head of the bed. My legs were chained to the tall bedposts at the foot of the bed, spread into a large V, each ankle raised up and out and tied into place with ropes. He didn't want chains nicking into the wood of the bedposts at the foot, it seems.

Marcus liked a small whip. He was good with it. He could flick it and make the end curl, but he knew how to leave welts without drawing blood. He was very good. That first night, he whipped the insides of my thighs, put a pillow under my hips at one point, and flicked the end of my clit until I moaned and whimpered. He could curl the end of that whip until it somehow flickered just barely inside my pussy, or seemed to wrap around my clit. Not until I begged him to stop did he, smiling and satisfied. He was sweating a little, panting, but I wasn't sure if that was from exertion or excitement. Maybe both.

When he finished with the whip, though, he jerked down his pants and rammed his cock into me, hard and long, and I squealed from the pain. But I still came. He liked that. He liked it a lot.

Another trick he liked a great deal was one he used the next morning, after Taylor had gone to work. Marcus was taking a few days off.

The butler, who never said a word or seemed to think this at all odd, helped Marcus to tie me down to a large wooden table in a back room of the house. I guess it had been set up just for this reason. There were a couple of old quilts already smoothed out on top of the table. The table was longer and wider than is usual, so I was fully stretched out, spreadeagle on the table.

Marcus likes clamps. He had a set of clamps attached by small chains. He'd light a cigarette and chain smoke with excitement and energy while he worked. He would loop the chain around the outside of my thigh, clip an alligator clamp onto the top part of the lip, then reach underneath, and pull the chain tight and clip the alligator clamp on the other end to the bottom part of the lip, pulling the lip far out to the side. He did the same on the other side with another set. He never seemed to see me, but he hummed a lot while he worked. He pulled out a set of tiny clamps with wires attached. These smaller clips had a hard bite to them. They were made not to move around. They didn't. They stayed firmly in place. Four were used on the lips, two on each side; four edged near the clit, two on each side. The clit had one at the base, another on the end, which was uncomfortable. Little clamps along my sides, on the insides of my upper arms, two on each nipple forming a cross, so the nipple was pinched first one way, then the other. Marcus stood and reflected a moment, humming, then happily put two more of the tiny clamps onto the insides of my lips, which hurt.

He picked up his box where all of these wires were attached and, humming still, flicked switches, one at a time, sometimes two or three on, sometimes more on, sometimes one. I jerked and whimpered and moaned and bucked. The electric jolts would shoot into the clit, making it twitch, and at the same time, a jolt would hit my ribs or the insides of my pussy. I came twice and Marcus was very excited about that. At one point, he turned on all of the switches for my clit and pussy and pulled out his cock. He managed to work in past the wires and while my pussy and clit were being zapped by electric jolts, he fucked me and was very excited. His eyes were closed and he really enjoyed me.

"I can feel you jerking every time the electricity hits," he grinned.

He also liked using metal clamps and touching them with an electric wand.

On the last afternoon I was there, Marcus had me tied to that wooden table again, lying on top of the old quilts. I could hear people driving by in cars, faintly. The gardener was outside, cutting the grass. Faint clinks from the kitchen. He had used the whip again that morning. I had bruises and red welts from several days of this, but at least this was the last day, I told myself.

Marcus used vacuum pressure on my nipples, getting them gorged and red, puffed and tender. He tied them off, moved to my clit. When that was gorged and swollen and tied off, too, he went to his old favorite of the chains and clamps to pull my lips apart, puffing away on his cigarette and humming. He stroked the inside of my leg with his fingers. I twitched; it was very tender. He grinned, lighting another cigarette from the now almost-finished one. He nodded.

He whipped my pussy and nipples, the clit, the insides of my legs. I was already very sore. The flesh felt raw, but I knew there would only be red marks, welts, maybe a few bruises, but nothing permanent. Marcus had worked himself up into a lather, though, excited. He jerked his pants down and threw them aside. I could feel his cock brush against my leg at one point. Marcus kept adding clamps, large, small, sharp-edged with tiny teeth, nubs on the insides of some, tweezer style, alligator - it seemed he was putting everything he had on my body. He finished, satisfied.

Incredibly, I was wet. I could feel cool air on the insides of my thighs and my pussy, brushing against wetness. Marcus saw it, too. He grinned at me. He twisted some of the clamps until I cried out.

"Beg me to stop."

I did. He shook his head. "No. You have to really MEAN it."

I was very wet. I was getting into that euphoric state from pain and being tied. He realized it. He took his cigarette and gently touched the end of it to the inside of one of my lips. I screamed out. The clinking in the kitchen stopped, then started up again. Nobody was going to come in there, it seemed. Marcus chuckled.

"Beg me, and really mean it," he said again. I begged, but he laughed. He touched the cigarette to the inside of my pussy again. I screamed and jerked my hips. He laughed. He moved up, one hand twisting the clamps on my clit and each side of it, scrunching the flesh and metal together tightly. I struggled against the wrist restraints, tugging frantically, and he laughed and laughed. He touched the cigarette to one of my nipples, and tears streamed down my cheeks and I begged him, stop it, but he laughed again. He touched the other nipple, then moved back to my pussy, puffing on the cigarette and blowing the smoke towards my face. He pulled out a knife and showed it to me. I jerked my head, no, and pulled on the wrist restraints and tried to free my legs.

Marcus laughed. "You're getting me all excited."

I tried to stay still. He moved the cold steel of the knife, laying it against my belly, then digging the pointed end into one of my nipples just a little. I whimpered and said, "stop, please." He moved the knife along my ribs, gently. No blood drawn, but I felt the cold steel.

"I could put this inside you," he whispered.

"No!"

"I could put it inside your pussy. You'd like it."

"No! Please don't."

He grinned, moving the knife back down my belly. The quilt beneath my hips was catching the wetness that ran from my pussy, down my thighs to the table. He laid the flat of the blade against a lip.

"I could slice you," he said quietly, watching me intently. I shook my head. I shivered but tried not to move my hips. He kept the knife against the lip but stuck two fingers in me. I bucked a little, amazed that I was excited.

"We need something else," Marcus said thoughtfully. He looked around, as though he hadn't thought this out. He reached underneath the table and pulled out a long-barreled gun, showing it to me. "It's not loaded," he said. I looked at it, then him, shivering.

"No, don't, please!"

He grinned. He rubbed the end of the barrel against my clit, metal clinking against metal. He jerked on some of the clamps and chains with his other hand. The pain made me more aware. He held up the gun.

"Fuck this for me," he said. "Fuck it and I'll let you go."

I nodded, too scared to say anything.

He pushed the barrel inside my pussy. I could feel a little notch on the end. I don't know what kind of gun it was. It had a long barrel. It wasn't a rifle. It wasn't a pistol. The barrel was wider than I'd ever seen. I didn't care. I could feel it sliding in and out of me.

"Fuck it," Marcus ordered. "Or I won't be happy."

I nodded and tried. He shoved the gun's barrel inside my pussy harder, and I moved my hips, trying. The clamps were all really hurting now. Marcus noticed this.

"In pain?" I nodded. "Good. Pain is very good." He leaned over and took my clit and some of the flesh into his mouth, sucked a little, then bit down slightly. I moaned and began to fuck the gun in earnest then. He was pleased. "Good." He picked up the knife in the other hand, keeping the gun inside me. He put the edge of the knife to my throat. "Keep going, whore." I fucked the gun and to my surprise, I came. I shuddered and moaned. As soon as I did, Marcus pulled the gun out of me and shoved his cock into me, hard. I came again.

"I can feel you, slut. You keep fucking me and make me happy." I was sore and raw but I kept going, jerking my hips up and meeting him, until I felt him still and shudder and spew into me, warm and sticky. He slumped over me, panting, then pulled out.

"Lick me off clean," he ordered. He shoved his cock in my mouth, and I cleaned and sucked, licked him, wrapping my tongue around the rim, flicking the end of his cock with my tongue.

"Bite me just a little." I did. He moaned. After a while, he was hard enough and he fucked me again before he took off the clamps. The rushing of blood back to sore flesh hurt.

Before Marcus untied me, Taylor had come home. He let Taylor fuck me. He asked the butler if he wanted to come in there, but the butler must have said no.

Marcus pulled a chain between my legs and clamped it to another chain around my waist, pulling the one between my legs very tight. It cut deeply into me, rubbing my clit and pussy. It got wet quickly. Marcus showed me a set of nipple clamps he had devised: almost an oval, the two sides had tiny teeth for gripping on the insides. The sides opened, fitted around the base of the nipple, then was shut and a small latch held it tightly closed. This flattened the base of the nipple so much that the nipple started swelling. Marcus hooked the ends of these new clamps to a small chain he threaded through my collar. Then he sent me home.